


Oh well, what's life (without a few dragons?)

by ForsythiaRising



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, because it kind of IS, you know what i'm just going to tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForsythiaRising/pseuds/ForsythiaRising
Summary: Charlie Weasley meets Drogon the Dragon. Daenerys Targaryen is also there.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Oh well, what's life (without a few dragons?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Entwinedlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwinedlove/gifts).



> Entwinedlove, I cannot thank you enough for requesting this. It brought me enormous joy to write, and I really hope you like it. 
> 
> I thought a bit about when, where, and how this fic is set. After minimal deliberation, I have come to the decision to stop thinking about it. I recommend you, dear reader, do the same.

The man is short and well-built, deeply freckled with Tully-red hair and a face made almost boyish by his wide, awestruck eyes.

The awe is no surprise. Daenerys is aware of what she looks like, here, with her back straight and her chin raised; she can feel the ground quaking and the air pulsing as Drogon and Viserion and Rhaegal shift their gargantuan forms and breathe their large-lunged, too-warm breaths behind her. She knows that with her children looming at her back, she can wear this soft dress that flutters about her calves and her hair down and no weapons at all and still be the most dangerous person this man has ever met. 

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,” Daenerys declares, a familiar and valuable bit of theater, “the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. I am the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.” She resists the urge to smirk, maintains a stony stare as she adds, “And you, I take it, are the so-called dragon expert.”

The man gapes.

When he speaks, the first words out of his mouth are, “You’re _beautiful_ ,” and Daenerys can’t help but roll her eyes. She lets out a resigned huff, frustrated as he moves towards her in some kind of dazed, amazed trance. She tenses, mouth open to snarl as he walks into her space and—

—right past her. Daenerys blinks in confusion, whipping around to follow his path into Drogon’s orbit. The man stops closer to the dragons than most would dare, though still further out than the braver idiots, by Dany’s estimation. His eyes haven’t moved, nor has the expression in them changed, and Daenerys has to entertain the possibility - with a strange zing of surprise-relief-annoyance - that he was never looking at her at all.

“Oh, don’t you have the loveliest scales,” he murmurs, looking Drogon up (and up, and up) and then back down, “we call that color _pitch_ , you know. Not quite as rare as _true black,_ but honestly I think _true'_ s overrated. Doesn’t have that nice bit of coloration you get around the snout and claws, you know?” 

Daenerys does not know, but she’s rather convinced he isn’t talking to her at all, either.

“A lot of Hebrideans get the _pitch_ coloring, but you’re not a Heb at all, I’d say. I’m guessing you’re a _stunning_ variation on a Horntail, aren’t you? You’ve got those nice pretty eyes and that lovely red, though typically it’d be more of a bronze-ish color. Which is nice, of course, but not quite as dramatic as what you've got going on. Why, I once met a Horntail-Heb crossbreed that…”

He keeps talking, his voice low and soft and indulgent in a way that lulls Daenerys herself into a steady calmness. Which is why she doesn’t think to stop him when he reaches out a hand, slow yet resolute, towards Drogon, doesn’t think to warn him as Drogon cranes his big, serpentine snout down, sniffs with huge, hot breaths and looks closely at the man with one wary, golden eye. 

Daenerys has seen men die, in moments like these. 

She breathes in sharply when Drogon bares his razor-edged teeth and presses in closer. A tense moment, and then - he bumps his scaly face into the young man’s outstretched palm. 

Her heart is still pounding when the man says, “It’s the smell. Odd thing about dragons, that - they don’t always like being around other dragons, but the scent’ll usually put them at ease,” the man says. And then he adds, “Did you really raise them from chicks, all by yourself?” He doesn’t look away from Drogon, so it’s a moment before she realizes the words are addressed to her. He must have heard her gasp.

She gathers herself, projects strength and unflappability when she says, “yes, I did.” They stand a little longer in silence, the man’s eyes on Drogon and hers on the pair of them, internally reeling. She’s never seen Drogon take to anyone like that - she’s a little mad about it, actually - but she’s not about to say that out loud. She is curious, though, and can’t resist asking, “So you’ve met more, then? Dragons?”

“Oh yes,” the man replies, actually _petting_ Drogon’s face. Only _she_ does that, what is _happening._ “I come by the dragon stink honestly. Got a whole sanctuary not far from here; I can show you.” He turns to look at her, finally, and flashes a wide, open smile. “I’m Charlie, by the way.” 

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen, Khaleesi, and Mother of Dragons, is no stranger to finding respect in the eyes of men. She sees it frequently, tinged with awe, or with fear, or even with love. 

Respect she’s used to, and the way he’s looking at her is indeed filled to the brim with it. But she’s not used to the other thing she sees there, alongside. 

She isn’t used to _glee_. 

“Charlie.” Daenerys repeats, intrigued and a little breathless, “That, I’d like to see.”


End file.
